


Maybe Next Time

by voxmyriad



Series: Trope Bingo [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Every damn time, F/M, References to past deaths, Reincarnation, Ships Passing In the Night, Tumblr Prompt, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 14:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4838147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxmyriad/pseuds/voxmyriad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it happened on his birthday, learning who she was this time—learning how she was unapproachable this time—and he'd guiltily breathe a sigh of relief and move on with his life. It was better than the waiting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> For Isonen! Prompt: Reincarnation - Bruce/Nat - I meet and fall in love with you in every lifetime at the same age but your age is always different so it never works out, and for the first time I'm meeting you when we're the same age and I'm horrified that I might fuck this up

"You've heard a lot of un...believable...stuff...right?"

"Doc, I've moved the goalposts on unbelievable so many times, I don't even know how to answer that. What's on your mind?"

"Um." Bruce pulled off his glasses and fiddled with them, which he knew _she_ knew was a favorite delaying tactic of his, but there was no point in trying to keep her from reading him. Even if he wanted to, she'd see through it. "So, I. Hmm. How do I start this," he mused, tapping the folded glasses against his chin before slipping them into his shirt pocket, then pulling them out again and setting them down on top of a stack of journals.

He noticed her eyes tracking them. She was noting what he'd done with them, he thought, so when he forgot where he'd put them, she'd know.

"Reincarnation is a...controversial topic," he began. "There's no way, or at least _we_ don't have a way of measuring it, so the science to back it up is, well. Lacking."

But personal memories weren't lacking. They were available in abundant supply. It usually happened the same way, an overheard snippet of conversation about a woman whose name he'd never heard before, but he'd _know._

Sometimes it happened on his birthday, learning who she was this time—learning how she was unapproachable this time—and he'd guiltily breathe a sigh of relief and move on with his life. It was better than the waiting. That year of his life got put on hold, until he found out. He was always 42. She was never the same age twice, and most of the time, by the time he found her, she'd already moved on. Died in a fire. Died in childbirth. Succumbed to tuberculosis, to the plague, passed away peacefully surrounded by grandchildren and great-grandchildren.

He'd been _happy_ , of course he'd been happy, he wouldn't have been able to survive this many cycles without finding happiness somewhere. But he'd long since lost count of the number of times he'd turned 42 and waited to hear about her.

This time—for the first time he could remember, and somehow he could remember a _lot_ —she'd found him.

And didn't know. She didn't remember a thing.

He swallowed around a dry mouth and found a glass of water being held out, with a sharp pair of concerned eyes behind it. "Still with me, Doc?" she asked, sounding amused to defuse the situation, and Bruce realized he'd been silent a lot longer than he'd thought. He was sitting now, on some papers too. He didn't fumble the glass when he took it, but he also didn't answer until he'd finished the water in it.

"Just. Thinking."

"I could see that. Want to fill me in? And don't make me guess. I have a feeling I wouldn't even come close and we'd be here all day." Her smile still had concern underneath it, but at least the wariness was gone. The fear of the monster he'd been cursed with on this turn.

When he'd realized what he'd done to himself, he'd hoped (for the first time _ever_ ) that he _wouldn't_ run into her. That she'd already be gone, like she usually was. But he didn't every time get what he wanted.

They weren't really the _same_ age. He'd met her when, of course, he was 42. She'd been a few years shy of 30, and when he'd learned what her life had been, he'd been _astonished_ that she was still alive this time. It had been a shock. He'd kept her at arm's length. He knew she didn't know why. For a while, he'd assumed the Other Guy had scared her off, but then the plan had been proposed, the Lullaby had been developed, they'd begun working together, and she'd gotten past her fear.

He'd met a couple gods now. He couldn't imagine they had much to do with this never-ending cycle, but he knew they existed. Someone must be in charge of it, and he couldn't help but wonder, why now? Why _this_ time, when they couldn't have anything approaching a normal life?

"Bruce?" He looked up from the empty glass. She was sitting cross-legged on a straight-backed chair. Jeans. A hoodie probably pilfered from Tony or from Steve, maybe from Steve's friend Sam. She looked ordinary. Approachable, even if the concern was starting to take over in her face. "You said something about reincarnation? Is that—"

"No." He shook his head a little, set the glass aside. "Nah, it's. Nothing. It wasn't anything." He shrugged a little, smiled, reached for his glasses. "Maybe next time."


End file.
